son; but still she moved not her solemn heavenward eye, though a
universal sobbing burst from ail the multitude; and my grandfather, at
the piteous pageantry, was no longer able to remain master of his
feelings. Seeing, however, that the mournful actors therein were going
on towards Bailie Kilspinnie's, and not intending to stop, as he
expected they would, at Widow Ruet's door, he ran forward to warn his
old friend; but in this he was too late; some one had been already
there; and he found the poor man, with his three other children,
standing at the door, seemingly utterly at a loss to know what his duty
should be; nor was my grandfather in any condition of mind to help him
with advice.

At that juncture the multitude came rushing on before the women, and
halted in front of the bailie's house; for, seeing him and his bairns,
they were taught, by some sense of gentle sympathy, to divide and retire
to a distance, leaving an open and silent space for the penitent to go
forward.

When Agnes Kilspinnie and her brother saw their father and brother and
sisters at the door, they quitted their mother and joined them, as if
instructed by an instinct, while she slowly approached.

Elspa Ruet, who had hitherto maintained a serene and resigned composure
of countenance, was so moved at this sad spectacle, that my grandfather,
seeing her distress, stepped out and caught her in his arms, and
supported her from falling, she was so faint with anguish of heart.

In the same moment, with a look that struck awe and consternation into
every one around, Marion stepped on towards her husband and children,
and gazed at them, and was dropping on her knees when the bailie caught
her in his arms as if he would have carried her into the house. But he
faltered in his purpose; and, casting his eyes on the five weans whom
she had so deserted, he unloosed his embrace, and, gathering them before
him, went in and shut the door.

The multitude uttered a fearful sough; Elspa Ruet, roused by it, rushed
from my grandfather towards her sister, and stooping, tried to raise her
up. Poor Marion, still kneeling, looked around to the people, who stood
all as still as mourners at an interment, and her dark ringlets falling
loose, made her pale face appear of an unearthly fairness. She seemed as
if she would have said something to her sister, who had clasped her by
the hand, but litherly swinging backwards, she laid her head down on her
husband's threshold and